My brother drove me to the Brooklyn morgue since I needed to look at dead bodies for my novel [Blue Eyes]. The morgue attendant took me and Harve around. All the dead men looked like Indians. Their skin had turned to bark. I distanced myself from the corpses, pretended I was touring some carnival with refrigerated shelves. It was Harve who sucked Life Savers and seemed pale. I was only a stinking voyeur in the house of the dead.

Introduction to Winter Warning – Jerome Charyn

The above paragraph is nestled between more paragraphs. For each one I have to stop. I re-read and savour.

The problem with reading Jerome Charyn (even though he does not consider himself to be a poet) is the problem I have in reading novels (Homero Aridjis) and short stories (Jorge Luís Borges) by the poets they are. I have to stop.

While I had no brother who was a policeman as Charyn did, I did have a very good friend who was the Federal Police Chief of Acapulco. In my time I have gone to many morgues and seen my share of corpses.

But what makes reading Charyn so special for me is that I met and photographed him in his native New York City years ago. When I read Charyn I read it in his voice.

Perhaps tonight I might get through the introduction. I will do my best to postpone that.

My blogs on Jerome Charyn

Winter Warning
The Vampire of Paris 
Blue Eyes 
Vanesa 
Glock-Verb- Transitive
The Czar's Daughter 
Currer Bell 
And Zero at the Bone 
The Dark Lady From Belorusse 
I Am Abraham 
I Am Abraham - which one?  
Teddy's Desk 
Malamud 
Charyn & J. Robert Janes 
Jane Jacobs & Jerome Charyn 
Marilyn the Wild 
Dee 
The Dark Lady from Belorusse 
Margaret Tolstoy 
Princess Hannah 
Bitter Bronx 
Seducing a Cockroach  
The Electric Dark of the King Cole 
The Little Duchess 
Wolf Dogs in Central Park 
The Polish Rider at the Frick 
Dee- Eddie Carmel 
Tanya's Legs 
The Colt 
Flicked Away a Tear 
Laurencia Riley 
With Lines from Emily Dickinson 
Without the power to die 
Emily Dickinson's White Dress